by C. T. Adams
“Not anywhere you want to go,” he said firmly, and kept walking. Lucienne followed. She could tell that he was thinking over what she’d said. “Nor can we take the turnoff your sister’s men used. Our enemies will look for us there.
“The sacred grove. It’s not far from the ring—only a few hours walk. It’s hallowed ground, close to the deities. Even Valjeta’s people might hesitate to attack us there. And”—he gave her a wry smile that transformed his face, making him suddenly quite handsome—“no one has ever accused you of being religious. They won’t expect us to go there.”
Lucienne nodded. “Take me.”
It was a long hike and not a pleasant one. The way was narrow and dark, the air musty from disuse and lack of circulation. Still, it was breathable, if only just. Lucienne had not noticed the slight downward slope of the tunnels, so did not realize just how far below the surface they were until faced with a steep staircase. The narrow treads lead sharply upward between bulging walls of iron-colored stone. The steps were barely wide enough for one thin person to pass and there were spots where Lucienne’s bulky clothing forced her to turn sideways and remove her backpack. Ju-Long wound up stripped down to little more than his pants and bore deep scratches on his chest after passing through a particularly narrow point.
She was exhausted, filthy, and out of breath by the time they reached the top landing—which appeared to be a dead end. Lucienne eased herself to the ground to rest, leaning on the wall, while Ju-Long probed the rock wall.
“I need to work out more,” she muttered.
“You did fine,” he assured her. “Better than I thought you would.”
That wasn’t exactly flattering; Lucienne gave him a half-hearted glare even as she admitted that she couldn’t really argue. Her efforts at fitness were sporadic at best.
With a whisper of magic and the grinding of stone, a wall of seemingly solid rock simply vanished, leaving Lucienne blinking against the bright glare of the late afternoon sun.
She shielded her eyes with one arm as she sucked in lungfuls of gloriously fresh air and listened to the sounds of songbirds and water rushing over stone.
When her eyes adjusted she found herself looking out from the mouth of a cave through the fine mist of a waterfall, each drop sparkling like a diamond in the sunlight. About three feet below was a large pond or small lake, bedecked with water lilies. It was lovely, the water mirroring the reds and golds of the sun sinking behind the circle of standing stones on the far side, the light tinting the sandy brown stones a rosy hue. Tiny winged creatures flew across the water and gathered in the grassy area between the standing stones: butterflies and pixies, with rainbow-colored wings; dragonflies and nyads; tiny water Fae with shimmering, translucent wings.
“Oh!” Lucienne stared in wonder. “How beautiful.”
“Yes, it is. I’ve always loved this place.” Ju-Long smiled, and lines of tension she’d never noticed before melted from his face, leaving him looking years younger. “If you’ll follow me, there’s a dry path down to the worship area.” As they walked, Lucienne forced herself not to swat at the flying creatures who were now swarming around her head. The host of winged bodies made it difficult to see, and the buzz of wings was as annoying as the drone of a fly.
“Watch your step!” Ju-Long snapped. “To step off of the path is to die.”
Lucienne stopped short. He was right, of course. Nyads were small, and might appear harmless, but they loved to lure travelers into the water—so that their larger cousins, the kelpies, could wrap their legs around the limbs of the unfortunate, drowning them and feasting on the corpse.
“Enough,” he growled at the tiny beings, who hissed at him in response. “Shall I change forms? Flame you from the air?”
The threat seemed a bit excessive to Lucienne, but it was effective. The nyads and pixies vanished as one, disappearing with a flash of light and sprinkle of pixie dust. Ripples moved on the surface of the water, as if something large was swimming away from the shallows.
They walked the remainder of the path unmolested, but when they stepped into the clear grass beyond the last reeds the air directly in front of Ju-Long’s face began to shimmer and sparkle, and the largest pixie Lucienne had ever seen appeared.
She was at least nine inches tall, and her perfect, naked loveliness was accented by the tiny gold circlet she wore on her lavender hair, and only slightly marred by the scowl on her face, that showed tiny, sharp teeth.
“Was it really necessary for you to threaten my retainers?” she snapped at Ju-Long.
“Evidently it was. I have your right of free passage here.”
“You, not your guest.”
“She has my right of free passage here. I brought her, she is under my protection.”
“She would be,” the pixie spat. “What do you want, Ju-Long? You obviously didn’t come here to pray.”
“I need to get a message to High King Leu.”
“The High King cares naught for the pixies. Were the price right, I might send your message, but it would never be received, for he would not deign to speak with such as mine. Not now.”
She had a point. Much as Lucienne hated to admit it, her father believed the pixies to be little more than annoying, dangerous pests. “I can give you a token that will get your messenger past the guards and in to see the king,” she assured the pixie.
“Were we speaking to you? I don’t believe so. Nor, I notice, has Ju-Long shown proper manners and introduced you to us. Give us your name.”
“Is that the price for delivery of the message? Would that be your bargain?”
The little faerie hissed in displeasure. Names had power, which was why she’d demanded it. Her eyes narrowed and she stared at Lucienne for a long moment.
“We nearly had you on the lake—so I’d thought you a fool. Perhaps I misjudged you.” She flew past Ju-Long and began examining Lucie closely. “Not human, despite the clothes, the ears, and the eyes, too Sidhe. You have a token that could get a message directly to the High King and your lovely red hair has been chopped short.”
She flew back to Ju-Long. “It’s war then, is it? And you’ve brought the king’s daughter here with you, dragging my people into the middle of a mess that will get us all killed, more than like.”
“You and yours are subject to the High King’s rule, Violet.”
“I swore no oath!”
“Yet you live on his lands and eat the food you can glean from them at his tolerance. Did you think there was no price? Are you Fae?”
The pixie queen rocked back as sharply as if he’d slapped her. If looks could kill, Ju-Long would have burned to ashes in that moment. After a long moment of silence, Violet settled onto the grass. “Fine, then. Though I regret the bargain, it has been made. I owe King Leu for the sustenance of my people. That buys you a few moments of my time and the consideration of your errand. The errand itself will have its own price.”
“And that price would be?” Ju-Long inquired.
“Royal blood is sweet. I want hers.”
“No,” he answered, his tone iron. Lucie rested her hand on his arm, trying to counsel him to patience.
“One drop,” Lucienne offered. “And not from the source.”
Violet smiled greedily. “Not from the source? Where’s the fun in that?”
“I know my lessons. I won’t be having you mark me.” More than one unwary soul had been so marked, and later, hunted and devoured by swarms of tiny Faeries. “One drop—and not from the source. That is the offer. You’ll get no more from me.”
“Not even to save your precious father?”
Lucienne didn’t respond, didn’t react at all. She’d give her life to save her father and king, but knew she wouldn’t have to. She could see the longing in the little queen’s eyes. She’d take the bargain. Lucie only had to hold fast to her offer.
For a full three minutes, they stared at each other in silence. In the end, the pixie’s appetite won out. “Fine. One drop, not from the
source. And I will send your message, and your token, to your king, immediately and without delay.”
That last was a gift that Lucie hadn’t bargained for.
“Done and done,” Lucie agreed. “Ju-Long, your knife, please.”
He passed it to her. With exquisite care Lucienne used the very tip of the knife to puncture the pad of her left index finger. She kept the knife in her right hand, in case the pixie lost control. She knelt, then, and pressed against the small wound on her finger until a single drop of blood welled forth. The pixie let out a little moan, leaning forward, a tiny trickle of drool sneaking past her lips.
Lucie leaned forward, turned her hand, and let her blood drop onto a flat pebble.
The pixie lunged. In a blur of speed she devoured the blood. She began to glow; tiny, starlike motes of dust spread out from her in an explosion of light.
Lucienne quickly got to her feet and handed Ju-Long his blade, handle first.
When the pixie rose into the air again, she was wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Oh, that was marvelous, daughter of Leu. I’d give much to have more.”
“No,” Lucie said firmly. “The deal has been made.”
“Very well.” Violet sulked. “Dandy … Dandelion, come to your queen. I have a task for you.”
There was a soft popping noise and a male pixie appeared. At perhaps six inches tall, he was smaller than his queen, his features more delicate. His body was a pale green, his hair the vibrant yellow of a dandelion in full bloom. He swept into a low bow before his liege, who smiled broadly, obviously enjoying the view.
“How can I be of service?” he asked.
“These two”—she gestured to Lucienne and Ju-Long—“have a message for you to deliver to High King Leu of the Sidhe. They will give you a token to ensure you’re allowed in his presence.
Lucienne stripped a ring from her finger. A single white pearl in a swirl of gold, with diamond chips on either side. Her father had given it to her mother, Mara, upon learning that she was carrying his child. He’d bestowed it on her publicly, so the servants and retainers would recognize it. Lucie handed the ring to the pixie with some regret, but while it had great sentimental value, she’d give up more than a ring to see her father warned of his danger.
“And the message?” Dandelion asked.
“Tell him,” Ju-Long answered, “that the tunnels have not been secured.”
The pixie nodded once, then disappeared in a puff of sparkling dust. Lucienne prayed that the message would get through, but she very much feared that the effort was too little, too late.
41
It was midday, hot and muggy, the air close enough that Lucienne felt like she was swimming in slow motion as she moved through the last stretch of woods. Ten more yards and they’d be past the ring and Ju-Long could open a passage through the veil. It felt like miles.
It had been a very long time since her weapons master had taught her to move in stealth through the woods using illusion to hide her passage. As a child it had been an adventure—a challenge. Now, with her life depending on it, it was just nerve wracking. Still, she said a silent prayer of thanks to the deities for giving her a teacher who was so insistent on her getting it right. Baja had been an old curmudgeon, but he had made damned sure she was capable of defending herself if she had to, or of running if it came to that. The only reason Ju-Long could see her was that he kept his hand on her arm at all times, sharing his power to fuel her illusion.
Deities bless his soul. By now Baja had been reborn—and was up to who knew what.
Five yards now.
Ju-Long squeezed his hand upon her arm in a silent signal to wait. Sure enough, less than a minute later an enemy scout passed by. Less than a foot from them, he didn’t have any notion that he wasn’t alone. Lucienne was surprised he couldn’t hear the frantic beating of her heart. Not her breathing—she was holding her breath. She only let it go when he was twenty feet past.
Still Ju-Long held her back. And well he did. A pair of guards erupted from the ground, engaging the enemy scout in a noisy, brutal battle.
It was the perfect cover and they used it, moving more swiftly now, because the noise of the fight would bring reinforcements.
Damn it.
Lucienne felt the thrum of power through the soles of her feet. They were past the ring. Any time now he could pierce the veil—if they could just get out of sight of those fighters.
Twenty feet to the left there was the beginning of a downslope. In the distance she could hear the river. They could use the sound of the water to cover any noise they might make, and the dip in the land would keep them out of sight … from this group at least.
Apparently Ju-Long had the same idea. He tugged her arm in that direction. She nodded her assent.
They moved together to the edge of the river Lythos. Standing on the muddy bank the sounds of the fight carried clear, but faint to her ears. Again, Lucie strained her senses, searching for any sign of unwelcome company.
They were alone.
She felt the stir of energy as Ju-Long gathered his power. With a gesture, he opened a passage through the veil, from their reality to the shadowy alley behind Brianna’s shop.
Lucienne didn’t hesitate. She stepped through, her feet moving from mud to trash-strewn concrete in a single step.
Ju-Long was right behind her. As she turned to thank him she heard a sound not unlike a man’s cough, and fell to the ground in agony as a bullet tore through her chest.
Time stopped. In a single frozen instant she saw Ju-Long, fire dancing on the fingers of his left hand, gun drawn in his right and aimed into the deep shadows behind a Dumpster filled to overflowing. She saw a man, silenced pistol drawn and aimed at the dragon’s head. But mostly she saw a tiny white spider sliding down a silver thread—the only moving object in the entire tableau.
The spider dropped to the ground where it resolved itself into the form of an old woman, back bent from years of care, wrinkled features wearing an expression of utter weariness. Still, her black eyes were sharp and alert, their gaze penetrating.
Atropos.
“Hurts doesn’t it,” the old woman observed.
Lucie didn’t bother to respond, she wasn’t sure she could anyway. Just drawing air into her damaged lungs was pure agony. The old woman bent slowly, and painfully down to lay her hand against Lucienne’s cheek.
You don’t have to do this.
Clotho is right, this mess was our doing. You shouldn’t be the one forced to pay the price.
Hush, both of you. This is my choice. It is time. And while painful, it will at least be quick. I’d hate a slow death.
Atropos gave Lucienne’s cheek a gentle pat. “Are you ready, child?”
Ready for what? Death? No. She wasn’t. But really, was anyone, ever? Didn’t we all fight and claw for that one last breath?
The old woman laughed. Well, most do anyway. Not me. With that she bent forward, laying a tender kiss on Lucienne’s forehead.
At that feather-light contact, the pain vanished, replaced by a strange sensation that she could not fathom. One moment she was dying. The next she stood over a body—her body.
“What…” she gasped.
“You are one of us now, Clotho.”
42
KING LEU OF THE SIDHE
Leu stared at the painting on the wall beside his throne, ignoring the bustle in the room as last-minute plans were put into place. His advisors were good at their jobs, so he let them perform without undue interference.
His daughter slept. To his great relief, Brianna’s health had improved dramatically once Morguenna had been able to treat her and get her fed. The gargoyle had escaped. The enemy did not have him. Valjeta would cross the veil. But she would not have an army of humans with her. Nor could she bring across any of the hugely destructive weapons available on the human side of the veil.
Some of his people would die. It was inevitable: but not all of them and, deities willing, not his childr
en.
Valjeta was evil, twisted, and had never been entirely sane. She had committed ritual murder, using blood, pain, and death to steal enough human magic to pierce the veil. Every bit of that magic was still tangled with remnants of the souls of the dead humans—souls that would not rest until freed.
The power Valjeta had stolen was formidable. But it was not hers and therefore would not be easy to wield—in fact, the human magic would actively resist her. And she could only regain her strength after more ritual human deaths.
He knew Valjeta wouldn’t hesitate to kill whoever she had to. But thanks to Helena Jefferson, there was a singular lack of humans on this side of the veil. Leu gave a wolfish smile. He’d been furious with Helena much of the time, but she’d been an amazing woman. In the end, whether she’d meant to or not, she’d served him well.
Valjeta would try to take Faerie from him. But were she to succeed she wouldn’t keep it. The magic and the land itself would not accept her. His descendants would sit on the throne, beginning with Helena’s daughter.
Civil war: It was the last thing Leu had wanted. But Fate would have her way, bitch that she could be.
“Your majesty,” Asara said softly behind him.
Leu turned to face her. She was lovely, as always. With her long hair gone, the fine bones of her face were more noticeable, and the armor she wore did not disguise the gentle, feminine curves of her body. She sank into a low curtsy.
“You should have gone,” he said as he gestured for her to rise.
Standing, she gave a snort of derision. “And go where? I made my choice years ago. I am yours.”
He might have answered her, but a horn sounded in the distance.
Furious activity erupted in the throne room.
Doxies flew in, reporting on the battles and the movements of non-combatants. The shimmering, floating map reflected the information: ground held by Leu glowed a brilliant silver; ground lost to the enemy, a sullen red.
In the field, the loyalists were winning, thanks to the brilliant tactics of Ulrich and Leu’s other generals and battle commanders—and the abilities of his warriors. The carnage was horrific. Images of individual battles flickered in the air as the doxies made their reports.
